Still neurotic after all these years / Lewis copes comically with his addictions

James Sullivan, Chronicle Pop Culture Critic

Published 4:00 am, Thursday, August 15, 2002

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Comedian Richard Lewis
(HANDOUT PHOTO)

Comedian Richard Lewis
(HANDOUT PHOTO)

Photo: HANDOUT

Still neurotic after all these years / Lewis copes comically with his addictions

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For years Richard Lewis, the comic "Prince of Pain," made routine fund- raising appearances on behalf of Bill Clinton, the president who felt our pain.

During one Oval Office visit, Lewis was with a girlfriend, and he knew they were on the outs. When they lined up to take a picture with the president, Lewis whispered a request: Could Bill lean in close to him, so he could crop the girlfriend out of the picture?

Clinton happily obliged, but the ploy didn't work so well. "All you can see is his ear, her breast, my nose," he says, still marveling at the absurdity. "It's like a Picasso."

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In Lewis' fractured, angst-ridden mind, the body parts tend to pile up like that. His unmistakable brand of agitated self-absorption has earned him a unique place in the comic Hall of Shame. As much a fixture on the late-night talk show couch as his therapists' daybeds, Lewis now has a recurring role on Larry David's Emmy-nominated HBO series, "Curb Your Enthusiasm," and has made regular appearances as a rabbi on the WB's "7th Heaven." He brings his never- ending comic monologue to the Great American Music Hall on Friday.

Eight years on the wagon, Lewis has remade himself as -- of all things -- an inspiration. "The Other Great Depression," his surprisingly sober memoir of his struggle with alcoholism, recently came out in paperback. In the blurbs, Mel Brooks calls him "the Franz Kafka of modern-day comedy."

Though Lewis found sobriety, he may never find peace. Lacking it is the core of his act, and the act, after all, is his life.

On the phone from his hillside home in Los Angeles, Lewis hasn't finished his first sentence before disclosing that he woke up with a mysterious rash.

The daily stress of recovery is more than enough to fuel Lewis' chronic craving for anxiety. "As soon as drinking became a non-option," he says cheerfully, "it was like planes waiting to land. I have these addictions circling my head, like ravens. It's not easy."

Having sworn off being an opening act after touring with Sonny and Cher in the late 1970s, Lewis returned to the small stage to "work on my craft."

The commitment led to plenty of opportunity, including several cable specials, a starring role with Jamie Lee Curtis on the ABC sitcom "Anything But Love" (1989-1992) and an acclaimed dramatic debut as Jimmy Epstein, an AA member grappling with his addiction, in the 1995 feature film "Drunks."

More than those accomplishments, though, Lewis values the friendships he has made with the "royalty" of comedy.

He met "Seinfeld" co-creator David when both Brooklynites were, believe it or not, promising schoolboy athletes, summering at a prestigious sports camp.

"Larry was such a jerk at this camp," Lewis remembers. "I mean, I hated him.

If we played baseball I'd try to bean him. We fought on the basketball courts. "

A decade later, oblivious to their shared past, they befriended each other on New York's nightclub circuit. It took months before they made the connection to their youthful rivalry.

One night Lewis caught himself staring at David in a "really dark, Roman Polanski way." As he searched for an explanation for this irrational loathing, it occurred to him that this was the guy he'd wanted to plunk with fastballs all those years before.

"We almost went at each other's throats," he says with a laugh.

Today, they are still at each other's throats on "Curb Your Enthusiasm."

At 55, Lewis is finally content knowing that the roles he gets will always be extensions of his real-life persona.

Having dinner with another of his famous friends, Lou Reed, a few years ago,

he complained that he'd been forever pigeonholed by his role in "Drunks."

"Lou starts laughing over his pasta," he says. Lou Reed, Rock and Roll Hall of Famer, lyricist extraordinaire, told Lewis that when he died he expected to be remembered for one thing, the "doot do doot" chorus to "Walk on the Wild Side."

"And they're gonna remember you as a neurotic guy who touches his forehead, " he said. "Get over it!"

"He said it so loud," Lewis recalls, "it was like 100 sessions of therapy. It was truly an epiphany."

COMEDY

RICHARD LEWIS performs at 9 p.m. Friday at the Great American Music Hall, 859 O'Farrell St., San Francisco. Tickets: $20. (415) 885-0750 or www.musichallsf.com.